


Written Beneath My Skin

by Trinadecker



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, soulmate tattoo au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trinadecker/pseuds/Trinadecker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on that AU where the first words your soulmate speaks to you are tattooed on you. </p><p>As she unrolled the parchment, a single word appeared on her left forearm, blooming beneath her skin as she watched. There was no pain this time – instead it felt as if chilled water was flowing through her veins beneath the new script.<br/>Hi.<br/>It was written in apple red, curling letters, and Regina traced them with her fingers, curse momentarily forgotten. She caught a glimpse of blue as she did so. Breath caught in her throat, she turned her other arm over.<br/>Mom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, soulmate means a variety of things -- someone you love very much and who loves you back. Children, best friends, and romantic soulmates included.
> 
> Another note - this is definitely still being continued, but I managed to break my laptop a few weeks ago and likely won't have it back for a few more (as of 3/9) so I'm currently unable to add anything.

Her mother never paid much attention to her tattoos. Regina didn’t even know what they meant, what they symbolized, until she was eight years old. Most children were told by the time they could read. Any time Regina brought it up, Cora would brush it off and tell her it wasn’t important. That it wasn’t something she should focus on. She’d had to ask her nanny about it.

“They’re the first words you’ll hear from your soul mate,” the woman – Kara -- had told her. “Your true love.”

She’d held her arms out for Regina to see. Regina had traced her tiny fingers over the scripted words, cataloging a stream of simple words like “ball”, “dress”, and several variations of the words mom and dad. “Children’s first words.” Kara pressed a hand to Regina’s cheek before pointing to a light blue text at the inside of her elbow.

_ Give it here! _

“This one was you. You were a little older. And demanding!” She’d said, poking at Regina’s leg and prompting her to roll her ankle and expose the neat print reading _Mama_ across her calf. “Look at that, Regina. It looks like one day you’ll have a baby of your own, and you’ll love them very very much.”

Three days later Kara was given a job in the kitchen, and Regina was assigned a new nanny, one whose face went pale with fear any time the tattoos were mentioned. She was fifteen when she learned her mother had been behind it – though really, she should have known – and she made it a point of rebellion to sneak down to the kitchen and visit.

She was seventeen when somebody finally spoke the words on her forearm, and after such a long time waiting, it felt like falling and flying all at once.

“I know exactly which horse to put you on.”

Boyishly handsome and entirely right for her, but to others so wrong. He’d smiled at her and that was all it took for her stomach to drop. It was a miracle her voice had been so steady as she smoothed out that front of her coat and replied, “That brown one there, I hope.”

He smiled at her, a sweet, understanding smile, before holding out a hand. “Daniel,” He said.

She took it, shaking his hand like her mother had said was only for men – curtseys were for ladies – and replied, “Regina.” She let her fingers relax and her hand stayed entwined with his, just for a moment.

“Well alright, Regina,” He started, backing away from her and towards the large brown horse. “This here is Rocinante.”

Two years.

She’d had two years of a wonderful romance with Daniel. He hadn’t pushed her into anything; hadn’t assumed that just because her tattoo matched his that she wanted to jump into something deep. It started out as innocent flirting during riding lessons. Eventually it progressed to little picnics in the sun, with food Regina had snuck from the kitchens with Kara’s help, and then it was lying on the hills surrounding the estate and kissing and trying to remove the grass stains from Regina’s clothing. They never came out, of course, and so Regina told Cora she often fell from her horse.

And then it was sneaking out at night to parties in the town, and then after to the stables to – well.

And then it was all over.

Two years.

She held him in her arms as the light faded from his eyes. She almost didn’t catch it, but as he died, the letters on her arm faded from her skin.

Regina Mills was nineteen years old when she lost her first tattoo. When she was twenty-eight, she lost the second.

She always liked to blame her mother for that one – it was Cora who had pushed her, who had manipulated her, torn her down until she was desperate to escape the woman’s control. And when she heard her mother wanted her to have a baby, well. Of course she thought her mother only wanted her power. She’d downed the bitter potion in one swallow and with the nausea, the cramps, the headache behind her eyes, came a searing pain through her leg.

The moment her mother was out of sight Regina pulled up her dress to examine the skin, nearly ripping the fabric in her haste. She felt her stomach turn when she saw the blankness of her calf, and she turned to retch into a potted plant in the corner. She fell asleep that night with acid in her throat and tears dried on her cheeks.

Unlike Daniel’s tattoo, _Mama_ left a scar.

As soon as Rumplestiltskin offered her the Dark Curse, she felt an itching beneath her skin. It was the kind she felt she couldn’t scratch – centered in one place but all over at once. Her arms were the focus of the sensation, and for the several weeks she contemplated casting the thing, she wore sleeveless gowns. Though she’d been tempted, she eventually decided not to enact the curse. Instead she traded the spell away to Maleficent and the discomfort stopped, and slipped her mind.

It had been a year since _Mama_ had disappeared from her calf. She’d gained a reputation not only as the ruthless Evil Queen but as the woman with skin as blank as her icy expressions. Rumors circled as to why – she’d killed her own child, that was a popular one. For most it wasn’t a stretch – she’d killed the king, after all. Others said she’d chained up her soulmate somewhere and erased the tattoo by magic. Most just said she didn’t have a soul. That she couldn’t feel love in the first place, let alone true love. Let alone have a soul mate.

They were wrong. She _could_ feel love. She knew it, because she had – but now it all just felt like pain. Pain and rage.

Still, the image served her well.

The itching didn’t return until after the sleeping curse failed. When she heard that Snow’s precious Prince Charming had saved her with True Love’s Kiss, well, she was livid. Regina ignored the pin pricks beneath her wrists, digging her nails in absentmindedly to chase the feeling away. Her thoughts turned to Maleficent, with the dark curse hidden away in her staff.

And so she took it back.

As she unrolled the parchment, a single word appeared on her left forearm, blooming beneath her skin as she watched. There was no pain this time – instead it felt as if chilled water was flowing through her veins beneath the new script.

_Hi._

It was written in apple red, curling letters, and Regina traced them with her fingers, curse momentarily forgotten. She caught a glimpse of blue as she did so. Breath caught in her throat, she turned her other arm over.

_Mom_.

The gasp she let out was audible, half way to a sob, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. _Mom._ She rolled the scroll back into itself and curled her fingers protectively around it. 

She was going to be a mother after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Nobody’s going to want you because of that thing.”

She ignored the comment, attempting to focus on her pre-algebra homework.

“I bet these people won’t even keep you until your birthday. That’s in, what, a month, right? Yeah, you’re not going to last.”

Emma grit her teeth, fingers tightening around the pencil in her hand. The neat, serifed lettering on the outside of her left upper arm burned. _You're Henry's birth mother?_

“You were only in your last foster home for like two weeks. This one’s already had you for like, five. I can’t believe they haven’t gotten tired of you yet.” She could hear the smirk in the other girl’s – her foster sister’s – voice. “You’re a screw up. You’ll probably be pregnant by the end of the month. That is, unless you’re a dyke, like everyone says.”

“Shut up, Katie.” Emma muttered the words under her breath, letting her hair fall to form a curtain between her and the girl.

“You _are_ , oh my god. Wait – you’re gonna get pregnant! Wow, you can’t even be a fag right!”

Her fist connected with the girl’s face before she knew it.

They sent her back after that.

 

_VOID._

The first time Emma saw someone with a blocked out tattoo, she was sixteen, and it was her teacher of all people. The woman crossed her legs one day and the fabric of her pants rode up, exposing the bright red block letters. Emma found herself staring at it, fingers passing over her own tattoo.

The teacher caught her, and with an embarrassed look, tugged her pant leg down to cover the ink.

The foster parents Emma was staying with at the time were nice enough but not exactly involved or overly devoted to the children they watched over. She thought maybe they would sign the consent for her. As it turned out, they were more concerned with her future than she thought.

She lost her temper with them after they scoffed in her face, telling her she’d never get a job if she covered up a soulmate tattoo like that. It showed bad character, they told her.

Like the actual text of her tattoo was any better. It didn’t matter that there was no age specification, no indication that what she was destined to do was at all a bad choice. Nobody wanted to risk the drama of being involved with a pregnant teen’s life.

Halfway through her sophomore year she even convinced a senior friend -- more of an acquaintance -- who looked twice his age to pretend to be her parental guardian at the local tattoo parlor.

The staff laughed in their faces and kicked them out within the first five minutes.  When her foster parents found out, she was grounded for a month.

 

Emma ran away the day after she turned 17.  She figured she could get a fake ID off the internet and get a job where she got paid under the table so nobody could find her and stick her back in the system. Steal a car. Sleep in that and couch surf until she turned 18 and could start using her real identity again. Save up some money and get her tattoo covered in thick, black ink so that nobody could read it again. The words and her fate would belong to her alone. She’d never wanted a relationship anyway.

But then she met Neal.

He promised excitement and adventure, sex and romance alike -- something so much more alluring than her life back in the foster system or the one she’d been planning for herself. They may  have still been bouncing from place to place like she’d always despised back in the system, but they were together, and that was something.

His first words didn’t match Emma’s tattoo, of course. Whatever kid it talked about hadn’t been born yet, but she was content to forget about all the soulmate bullshit and about those damning words on her arm.  Neal might not have been her soulmate, but he was good enough for her in the moment and that was all that mattered. He cared about her more than anyone had in a long time, even if he wasn’t in love with her. Even after he’d seen her tattoo. Emma knew the instant he noticed it. She almost always wore long sleeves to cover it, but she saw his eyes linger the first time they slept together. When she was naked underneath him with her arms pinned above her head his gaze paused for a second too long.

He never said anything about them, not directly, but the next day he asked her if she wanted to go to planned parenthood and get her on birth control. She said yes, and they always made sure to use a condom as well. Never too safe.

Things don’t always work out as you plan.

His tattoo wasn’t for her, and though she’d resolved to forget about all of that, Emma couldn’t help but be a little disappointed when she saw. She’d searched for the ink one night, after an internal debate that her curiosity won. He was lying next to her, asleep on his side and undressed save for his boxers. Emma carefully lifted the sheets, examining his skin for the letters she knew were there somewhere. She didn’t have to look long. Tiny, dark letters ran sideways up his back, hugging his spine. They were barely legible in the low light of the room. As soon as Emma realized the tattoo didn’t read  “What the hell” -- which really, would have been a great soulmate tattoo, so he was the one missing out in the end -- she’d dropped the blankets and buried herself in the motel pillows.

She didn’t know if she loved him, but she’d realized some part of her hoped he would love her.

It made it so much worse when he left her.

Not only left her in the break up sense, but left her to take the fall for a crime she didn’t commit. She’d come to expect those around her to leave, throw her away when they moved on to the next and better thing, but for some reason Neal hurt more than any foster family giving up on her.

As she stood there in front of the officer, stolen watch gleaming on her wrist as a badge of her guilt, a searing pain shot through her foot. As soon as she had the opportunity, she pulled off her shoe.

There, in the calloused skin of her heel, were the spotty beginnings of words.

_Impressive. But really, you cou_

_\-- ld have just asked me for the keys,_ She finished in her head.

 

She wasn’t even surprised when she found out she was pregnant. No, because that was just how her life went. Something bitter twisted in her stomach as she sat on the bench in her cell, cross-legged and staring at the positive test in her hand.  Two pink lines glared back at her, one strong and the other just barely visible, but still enough to indicate a positive.

Of course it had been Neal. Of course it had been someone she’d trusted, someone who’d hurt her, and not some stupid one night stand. For the first time in what felt like forever she’d let her walls down for someone and he’d used her. Emma dropped the test to the floor and kicked it. It skidded across the cement, hitting the wall with an unsatisfying clatter. She curled up in her bed, face turned away from the plastic reminder of the child growing inside her.

She kept her tattooed arm tucked beneath her and held her other carefully away from her stomach. She knew she couldn’t keep it, even if the words on her arm hadn’t determined her fate. A hell of a mother she would make.

The less attached to it she became, the easier it would be to give it up.


End file.
